Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, Daughter Am I, More Deaths Than One, and A Spark of Heavenly Fire. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”

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Learning to Deal With the Real World

May 31, 2012 — Pat Bertram

It seems strange to have to learn to deal with the real world at my age, but for more than half of my life, I didn’t have to deal with the world as it is. My life mate/soul mate and I created our own world of peace and accord. We always wanted the best for each other without ever a hint of envy or resentment. We helped each other. We listened to each other. We cared for each other and took care of each other. We shared values, income, responsibilities without counting the cost or worrying about who got more than their share. In fact, we often worried that we were taking more than we gave.

It wasn’t like that at the end, of course. Long-term illness skews things, so during his last years, there was often tension and frustration as our lives started to diverge — he to death, me to life alone. We could feel the disruption of our world, and though we were under tremendous stress and occasionally gave in to fits of pettiness, we mostly managed to deal peaceably with each other. To others, however, we appeared to be in perfect accord. During one of their visits, the hospice nurse turned to the social worker and said, “I don’t think they have any idea how much they love each other.”

What we had didn’t feel like love, and yet, what else could it be, this creation of a world where we each gave whatever we could without stopping to count the cost? We didn’t have an easy time of it — so often life took disastrous turns, but still, we were always there for each other.

And now we’re not.

He’s . . . somewhere (or nowhere) and I? I’m here, muddling along as best as I can in this alien world. The world is alien in part because his absence has created a black hole into which so much light has disappeared; in part because I am alone without someone listening, caring, helping; in part because it truly is alien. Though people often say, “We’re all in this world together,” they don’t mean it. People want things and they pursue those things with a passion. Isn’t that what most people think life is about? Finding someone or something to be passionate about? But here is the conundrum — passion takes what it wants and doesn’t count the cost to others. (That is why passion is such a great story driver.)

He and I used to play games where the goal was not to win or lose, but to come out evenly matched. We hated games where one person won everything and the other lost everything. It seemed too cruel. Neither of us wanted to lose, but we didn’t want the other to lose, either, because we knew how much losing hurt. (It probably won’t come as any surprise if I tell you we created our own games.)

We never argued. Well, there was that once, six weeks before he died, but I hate thinking of that. I understand now the horrendous pressure of our lives, but for so long all I could think of was how horrible I was for having my first fight with my mate six weeks before his death. (I understand it now, but I still can’t think of it without tearing up. I never wanted to be that woman.) But for more than three decades, if we disagreed, he’d state his position and I’d state mine (or vice versa). If we couldn’t come to a resolution, we’d walk away (sometimes in a huff, sometimes in frustration). The next day, he’d bring up the subject again, conceding that I was right. Of course, by then I’d have mulled over what he said, and I’d concede that he was right. So we were back where we started. The best thing about it is I knew he’d thought about what I said, he hadn’t just blown me off by walking away.

When he died, my world of accord died, too, and now I live in the world everyone else does — a world where some have way too much and some have way too little. A world where passions tear people apart as often as they bring them together. A world where competition is rampant, where it’s not enough just to win, but also to make sure others lose. A world where small disagreements escalate into battles. Admittedly, this is what the world has always been like, but I didn’t have to deal with it.

5 Responses to “Learning to Deal With the Real World”

Wow! Thank you for sharing your story! It really makes me think. I consider myself to be someone who at times is at peace and other times becomes passionate about things. For the most part I like to feel at peace. When I’m caught up in too many passionate battles it becomes exhausting. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to lose someone I love and share a life with and find myself alone in the world again. I can imagine it must be even harder once a person is older and has been in a life for a long time with another person. I wish the best for you and hope you can find the support in a world where people are really caught up in their own personal desires.

Do I know that feeling! Granted AC and I shared a much shorter time together and yet, now, after having been blessed with such sharing the world is indeed truly alien, like you say. I mean, I .. me … read science fiction now. That would never have happened a year ago.

I don’t want to deal with this world either though, unlike you, even when I had him alongside me I still had to. But sharing made it seem insignificant, irrelevant, unimportant, at most a nuisance. Now, it’s overwhelming. I find, and I wonder if you have experienced something similar, that where I was once what can best be described as gregarious, I now am most at peace in solitude. Alone with my 4-legged family (1 dog, 2 cats), my memories and my longing. I can spend only a limited amount of time in the presence of others, even old, trusted, lovely and loving friends, before I need to be back at home. Is that a normal reaction?

I would love to crawl into and stay in my “meditative” space until it is my turn to leave.

Again, thank you so much for your postings. They really are a great help! They make me understand that others have been, and are, where I now find myself and don’t want to be.

Malene, many of us who have lost the significant person in our lives find peace in solitude. Trying to connect with people who live in a different world is difficult, and anyway, what’s there to say? They don’t want to talk about the things we do — a new awareness of death or the truth of life or anything that is now important to us — and talking about the unimportant things of life exhausts us. Grief is exhausting. It takes an enormous amount of energy to deal with this alien world.

I’m hoping that eventually I’ll be able to find a new way of life, but for now, I find peace in solitude (though I do make an effort to see people occasionally). Supposedly, it takes three to five years to find a new appreciation for life. People always hesitated to tell me that, not wanting to scare me with thoughts of years of pain, but I find it comforting to know that someday there might come a time when life again feels as if it’s worth living.

I’m glad my posts have helped. It is good to know that what we are experiencing is entirely normal.

Books by Pat Bertram

Grief: The Great Yearning is not a how-to but a how-done, a compilation of letters, blog posts, and journal entries Pat Bertram wrote while struggling to survive her first year of grief. This is an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.

When twenty-five-year-old Mary Stuart learns she inherited a farm from her recently murdered grandparents -- grandparents her father claimed had died before she was born -- she becomes obsessed with finding out who they were and why someone wanted them dead.

In quarantined Colorado, where hundreds of thousands of people are dying from an unstoppable, bio-engineered disease, investigative reporter Greg Pullman risks everything to discover the truth: Who unleashed the deadly organism? And why?

Bob Stark returns to Denver after 18 years in SE Asia to discover that the mother he buried before he left is dead again. At her new funeral, he sees . . . himself. Is his other self a hoaxer, or is something more sinister going on?

Thirty-seven years after being abandoned on the doorstep of a remote cabin in Colorado, Becka Johnson returns to try to discover her identity, but she only finds more questions. Who has been looking for her all those years? And why are those same people interested in fellow newcomer Philip Hansen?